


Mistletoe

by likeadeuce



Category: Cable and Deadpool, Marvel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-15
Updated: 2010-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:22:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeadeuce/pseuds/likeadeuce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Please understand that in my time, people do not celebrate the births of holy men of any persuasion."</p><p>"Of course not. I'm sure they just celebrate yours. Which, last time I checked, happened during the Reagan administration."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe

_Providence: Cable's South Pacific Experimental Island Think Tank_

"So, Nathan," said Irene. "What are we going to do about the holidays?"

Cable looked up from the ring where he was sparring and took a step backwards, causing the combat-droids to crash into each other. Oops.

Cable didn't waste time regretting the loss of three pieces of very expensive machinery that now lay on the floor, sputtering and shooting sparks at each other. They had never really had the speed to keep up with him, anyway, so he may as well send his engineering team back to the drawing board sooner rather than later. Besides, he could now give undivided attention to his chief of staff. "Every resident of Providence will be free to celebrate any holiday, or none, according to their own religious traditions. Naturally."

"Naturally," Irene answered stiffly. "But I wasn't talking about every resident of Providence. I was talking about your senior staff. The people who have stuck with you through a very difficult year."

"Irene --" Cable frowned, and reached for a towel, although he didn't really need one. The still-sizzling robots had barely made him break a sweat. Another thing for the engineers to work on. "If you want time off to go home for Christmas, you could just ask."

"Go _home_?" she repeated, and for almost the first time in all the years he had known her, Irene Merryweather's perfectly professional facade showed a little crack. "Where is home, Nathan? Do you think my family is speaking to me? I got fired from my job and followed a megalomaniac to Crazyland to help him lead a dangerous revolution. My parents moved last month and the Post Office won't even give me a forwarding address!"

It took less than a second for Cable to access that data through the Infonet. He didn't even have to blink. "One eleven Oak Street, Dubuque. . ." He stopped. "That's not the point, is it?" It only took a few seconds longer to confirm that most of his Providence-based staff -- at least the mortal and fully human ones who actually belonged in this timestream -- were in a similar position of estrangement from their own families. Finding the information was simplicity itself. If not for Irene, though, it would never have occurred to him to look. That was the problem with having all the right answers; they didn't do a damn bit of good until you asked the right questions.

"The point," Cable continued slowly, "is that you think I should do something to show the people who are important to me that I appreciate what they have done."

"I'm saying," said Irene, drumming the stylus against the screen of her PDA, "that you should take some time to show _all_ the people you work with that you appreciate _everything_ they have done." _That is, having sex with Domino to show her that you appreciate her assassinating your predecessor in Rumekistan and then turning on the men who hired her to do it -- well, that doesn't cover your obligations._

The second part of this was not conveyed verbally, either out loud or through explicit telepathic communication. The one part of Cable's lost psychic power that he had not been able to replicate was the experience of one-on-one mindreading. Fortunately, he read enough minds over the years to be able to surmise what thoughts went with what situations and facial expressions. This was particularly true in the case of someone who had known him as well and as long as Irene had.

Also, considering recent events and the way she was glaring at him, he would have had to be functionally retarded _not_ to understand her meaning. So there was that.

"All right," Cable sighed. "Maybe we should have some kind of --" He choked on the word 'party'. "Observance. Please understand that in my time, people do not celebrate the births of holy men of any persuasion."

"Of course not. I'm sure they just celebrate yours. Which, last time I checked, happened during the Reagan administration. So don't try to coast by on your standby 'man out of time' line. You've lived in our time long enough. Seriously, Nate, all the years you were with X-force, and there was never a Christmas party? Egg nog, mistletoe, Mannheim Steamroller?"

"Mistletoe," Cable mused. "Now that you mention it, Shatterstar was rather fond of the stuff. He had seen a few too many very special Christmas episodes. He had a habit of putting it up in some rather unexpected places, which led to situations. . . For instance, there was the night we were infiltrated by mercenaries, and as they burst in, I found myself standing under --" He glanced at Irene. "But I'm getting off the topic. You don't want to hear that story."

"I'm sure I don't." She turned back to her PDA, then looked up. "Just -- tell me it doesn't involve Deadpool."

"It doesn't involve Deadpool."

"Okay." Her hand clenched around the PDA. "And that wouldn't just be you telling me what you think I want to hear."

"Irene," Cable said, with his most winning smile, "If I were telling you what I thought you wanted to hear, I would have stopped long before I got to that point. Now," he mused, looking around the training room, "If you were going to put some mistletoe up in here -- where would you start?"


End file.
